


Not Even Real Silver

by Minky-way (Cardgamesonmotorcycles)



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Child, Adoption, Cute, Family, Fluff, Happy Family, Ice Cream, M/M, MizuSei family, Sports Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 04:56:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6224848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cardgamesonmotorcycles/pseuds/Minky-way
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd never really expected to be doing this, laughing as Sei pushed him forwards and ignoring his weak protests, accompanied in his efforts by a tiny hand yanking on his and a small voice remarking that he just <i>had</i> to be in the dad's race.<br/>And who could say no to those faces?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Even Real Silver

He scanned over the crowd cautiously, finally picking out a black head of hair and one of dark brown, a slim hand raising to point at him and whisper into the child’s ear, squirming on Sei’s lap to turn and see him and waving with a tiny hand. He returned the wave with a grin, noticing the people in the lanes along the way mostly doing the same, except for one, dressed in proper running tights and a fluorescent yellow and black jacket, expensive trainers on his feet and stretching like he was in the Olympics. Turning when the guy in the next lane wished him good luck, joking about how upset his son would be if he didn’t win and Mizuki laughing and saying the same, waiting for the referee, actually the math teacher, to tell them to take their places.

An alarming hush fell, and this suddenly felt a little serious even though he knew it wasn’t, he was in a regular t-shirt and shorts after all, he’d hardly be able to break any records in the 100m sprint over uneven grass separated by brightly coloured plastic cones. There would be no starting gun though, and no medal, just a whistle and then the victory of being the winner, maybe some kind of small token but that was it, and after all, this was for fun, despite what the asshole in lane one seemed to think.

“Okay dads, get ready… Set… Go!” If he’d gotten a little into a running position before the whistle was even blown, he only blamed it on the fact that he wanted to make his little family proud even if that didn’t involve taking first place. To be honest, he had a good chance, he was significantly more fit than most of the other dads, one of which had a pretty impressive beer gut and the others who were fairly slim but not as built as he was.

But there was no time to think, the whistle had blown and he and the other dads had set off, pulling oxygen into his lungs and pounding across the soft grass, crushing daisies and dandelions under his feet and heading to the finish line, marked off by a piece of long red paper held in place by the principal and his wife. He couldn’t really see where he’d placed until they were done, bursting over the line after the paper was already fluttering in the warm breeze and knowing he hadn’t come in first but not really minding because he’d been able to hear his sons voice shouting for his daddy all the way through and that was prize enough.

Pulling oxygen into his lungs and recovering a lot faster than most of the others, laughing as the guy who’d wished him good luck straightened up, sweat beading on his forehead and looking significantly impressed at his unruffled demeanour, congratulating him for getting second place, quietly adding that the guy who’d won did every year and was a massive asshole about it.

Then the math teacher had come to find him and he’d been brought out to an impromptu sort of winners stand, having to shake the hand of the winner who was so smug he almost wanted to remind him that this achievement meant nothing. Still, at least the guy who’d come in third was nice, remarking with significant pride that his twins would be so happy he’d made the podium, that was more the kind of friendly spirit Mizuki expected on sports day. Then medals were handed out, cheaply made and obviously nothing special, but he felt rather good with it round his neck anyway, ignoring the applause of everyone else and eyes going back to Sei and the bundle of squirming, excitable joy on his lap.

 

* * *

 

 

Then there had been a megaphone announcement that sports day was over and that there would be refreshments inside, ice lollies for the children and cold drinks for the parents, people beginning to stand from the grassy bank on which they had rested. Heading up with the crowd to find his family, his son rushing at him so fast to hug him that he almost toppled back down the gentle slope, Sei approaching rather more gracefully and just kissing his cheek.

“Daddy, I want ice-cream but Dad said I had to ask you, can we go get some _pleaaase_?”

“Ice-cream huh?” He asked, lifting him up into his arms easily and smiling as he just lifted up his medal, eyes going wide as he felt the cool metal on his hands before losing focus and returning to the topic in question. Mizuki glanced at Sei, who promptly looked away as if feigning indifference, a sure sign that he didn’t really mind, “sounds good to me.”

“Yay! I want chocolate _and_ strawberry _and_ mint!”

“We’ll have to see about that,” it was Sei who spoke now, knowing full well that if the two of them were left alone that Mizuki would indeed buy him a million scoops of ice-cream and not stop until he was sick or had horrible brain freeze, so easy to manipulate into spoiling him.

 

* * *

 

 

“So how was your first sports day?” Sei asked, calmly scooping a spoonful of his mango sorbet out of the cardboard carton it was in and eating it neatly, watching as the overfilled three-scoop cone in his sons hand almost toppled over, because he should have known better than to let Mizuki order without him.

“I liked it, especially the bit where I got to throw the beanbag!” The beanbag in question had amusingly been referred to as the shotput, though of course letting small children hurl around metal balls wasn’t the best idea, and the beanbags could travel a lot further, earning him a respectable third place.

“What about my race?” Mizuki asked, and if he’d looked up right then he would have seen Sei’s raised eyebrow, actually impressed he’d managed to wait this long for reassurance, always slightly worried that somehow their child would turn against him.

“Yes, didn’t he do well?” But of course, he’d support his husband in anything, even if it was a dumb 100 metre sprint where the competitors were all middle aged men with pot bellies and wearing Jesus sandals, though thankfully Mizuki wasn’t quite there yet.

His face had scrunched up in that way only a child’s could, looking sulky and disapproving all at once and far ruder than any expression an adult would dare show, emotions clear even as Sei’s lip rose in amusement, glancing across to where his husband looked a little hurt. “But daddy didn’t even win!”

Ever the peace keeper between them, Sei spoke up fast, squeezing Mizuki’s knee under the table and knowing he appreciated his support, because even if he understood that he was sad he hadn’t won, nobody liked to feel they’d let somebody down. “I know sweetie, but that doesn’t matter, he took part, that’s good, right?”

“You should both do it next year!” There was a brief silence after this in which they both just looked at each other, Mizuki knowing already that he’d be doing it again and Sei thinking silently that he’d have to let them both down again by being an observer, or as Mizuki had named it, ‘official cheerer.’

“Maybe Dad can take part in the Mummy’s race?” Sei glared at him for that, not for the implication that he’d be running with the Mothers, because in all actuality he wouldn’t mind, but at the fact he’d been dragged into this when he had no intention of running anywhere except in an emergency and even then it was doubtful.

“But he’s not my Mummy…” His face had fallen in confusion and, bizarrely, his eyes looked a little wet, Sei just wiping his mouth clean with a napkin and entertained as always to see how little that affected him, just frowning resolutely at Mizuki as if offended by his stupidity, not quite understanding the joke.

“Then tell you what, I’ll just have to win next year. Deal?”

He hesitated for only a second, because after all he was easy to please, gripping his ice-cream cone harder and not noticing the dribble leaking onto his hand, Sei wiping it away immediately before it could stain his shirt. Then his little mouth spread into a wide smile, gappy teeth so cute and covered in chocolate ice cream, nodding widely and hair sticky with sugar, “deal!”


End file.
